


our love is god, let's go get some ice cream

by nonbinarynino



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Ice Cream, Lukanette, Mutual Pining, School Dances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-06 23:51:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nonbinarynino/pseuds/nonbinarynino
Summary: When Adrien’s thirty minutes late, she realizes the truth. He’s not still combing his hair, or stuck in traffic, or in some freak accident. He’d simply stood her up.(Or, the one where Marinette ditches her end-of-the-year dance to spend time with somebody special.)





	our love is god, let's go get some ice cream

**Author's Note:**

> the title is a self-indulgent heathers reference
> 
> [btw there are a lot of references to the ice cream marinette got in glaciator so if you forgot: she got peach+mint to represent adrien ok bye]
> 
> based off of the promo pic that jeremyzag put on instagram like 15 weeks ago that im too lazy to link

At first, Marinette hadn’t even planned on going to the end-of-the-year dance. All of her friends are one half of a pair, and third-wheeling for an entire evening doesn’t sound very pleasant at all. _Especially_ considering that most of the school parties that she’s been to in the past year have ended with an akumatization. Yeah, no thanks.

“Are you _sure_?” Alya asks that day in homeroom, for what must be the hundredth time since the announcement of the dance. “I promise that if you come, Nino and I won’t be totally gross and affectionate. It won’t be like third-wheeling at all.”

Marinette laughs, because, sure, that might be what Alya believes _right now,_ but it’s definitely not what will end up occurring. Chances are, the two of them will sneak off halfway through the dance to make out in private, and then she’d have to voyage from classmate to classmate, careful not to hover for too long. “I’m alright, really. It’ll be nice having the night to myself.”

From the seat in front of them, Nino pivots around. He gives her his award-winning, please-do-my-homework grin, but it just makes her arch an eyebrow at him. “Marinette, c’mon, it’ll be so much better if you come. Don’t you want to design the best dress there and upstage Chloé?”

“I don’t want to _upstage_ anybody,” she says, but the idea is quite entertaining. It _would_ be nice to spend the next month or so with a new project. She hasn’t had a _really_ big one to work on since she and Kitty Section spent two weeks straight trying to put together a great music video. “Alright, if somebody asks me, I’ll go, but I don’t want to go by myself. Is that fair?”

“Go to what by yourself?” a voice asks, and Marinette looks up to see Adrien, backpack still slung over his shoulder. He smiles at her, perfect and automatic, like every photoshoot picture  of his. It’s almost like he’s been taught how to smile attractively instead of it being something that he can just unthinkingly do when he's happy.

“The dance next month,” she tells him. “Alya and Nino are trying to get me to go, but I don’t want to third-wheel.”

“Oh, I’ll go with you!” Adrien says immediately, pulling out his phone and tapping a few times. “Let me check my calendar. What date is the dance, again?”

Alya nudges Marinette under the table, but… for some reason, she’s not freaking out about this. It’s just two friends going out together, after all. It’s not as if he likes her. “Er, it’s the twenty-third next month,” she tells him. “I would have thought that you’d go with Kagami.” Alya nudges her again, sharply this time, but Marinette ignores it.

“She’s going to be out of town that whole week,” he says. “Visiting family, I think. Hey, it looks like I’m free that evening. I’d love to go with you, Marinette!”

She hesitates for just a moment, wondering why this doesn’t feel like more of an astonishing plot twist. She’s _excited,_ sure, but she doesn’t feel as though the very ground beneath her has shifted, the way that she used to whenever he came close. She doesn’t know _why_ she doesn’t, because the blush on her cheeks probably indicates that her crush on Adrien Agreste is still _very much there,_ but she doesn’t. “That sounds great,” she says after she’s figured out what she wants to say. “Thanks!”

“Of course,” Adrien says, typing something into the calendar on his phone. “Anything for a friend.” She just smiles, fond, and goes back to her homework.

(During lunch, Alya grabs her by the arm. “Holy cow, you didn’t stutter _once_! This is such an improvement. I really think that you have a chance with him now!”

“Yeah, totally,” Marinette agrees, and wonders why she isn’t more excited.)

 

* * *

 

Her phone buzzes while she’s staring blankly at her sketchbook. There are at least ten new pages filled with new design concepts, a few of them haphazardly scribbled out in favor of a better sketch. She’s tried everything from an A-line to a bodycon, but nothing seems like _her._ Maybe a texting break will be a good distraction, especially if it's from somebody that she enjoys long conversations with. A quick peek at her phone screen confirms that it very much is.

 **from:** Luka  
what are you up to right now?

 **to:** Luka  
Trying to design a dress for a dance next month but I can’t pick one :/  
What about you?

 **from:** Luka  
homework  
can i see some of the designs? i probably won’t be able to help much but i always love seeing your work

Marinette feels her cheeks burn as she stares at the screen. When’s the last time that anyone had asked to see her designs simply because they wanted to? She can’t even remember. She’s sure that it had been Alya at some point, but ever since Lila came around… Marinette can’t remember the last time that anyone had even asked what she’s working on.

The thought makes her eyes burn, too, but she blinks it all away.

 **to:** Luka  
Sure but beware, it’s a lot  
[Attachment: 11 Images]

It takes him what seems like forever to answer, but instead of assuming that he’d gotten caught up with something else, Marinette imagines him zooming in on each and every design, trying to speak the language that she’s been fluent in for years. It's a funny thought, but not an unrealistic one by any means. He simply cares so much.

 **from:** Luka  
holy shit marinette  
<3  
they’re all so unique and detailed and beautiful. how long have you been working on these?

 **to:** Luka  
Since I got home from school lol  
Which one’s your favorite?

 **from:** Luka  
i can’t believe you did so much in three hours  
you’re amazing  
i like all of them but i think the seventh one is so true to you

Marinette studies the one that he’s talking about. It’s long and layered, woven with lace and flowers. It would certainly take more time to create than some of the other options, but… she can see what he’s talking about. It _is_ true to her. She’s never known quite what he’s talking about when he speaks about heartsongs, but she thinks that this dress is her own version of it. If Luka can turn his soul into a piece of sheet music, maybe she can turn hers into a scribbled sheet of sketchbook paper.

 **to:** Luka  
You know, Luka…..  
I think you just might be right! Thanks!

She hesitates for just a moment, before adding:

 **to:** Luka  
<3

 **from:** Luka  
of course  
<3

 

* * *

 

The dance sneaks up on her. One month turns into one week, and one week turns into one day. She spends so much of her free time working on the dress that it feels like both an eternity and no time at all. The dance won’t be the only time that she wears it, not after spending so much time on it, but she’s not sure what other events it would be suitable for. Her parents tease her and say that she can’t wear it to any wedding, because she’ll upstage the bride.

Nino had been right in the end, though, because when she walks into the ballroom, it does feel _really nice_ to be the most formally dressed person there. It’s like she’s the main character, and this is her movie.

Well, it feels like that for a few minutes, at least.

When Adrien is five minutes late, Marinette assumes that he’d just taken an extra few minutes getting ready.

When he’s ten minutes late, she assumes that maybe traffic had been a little worse than usual. It’s a Friday night, after all, and he relies on his bodyguard for rides. She’s sure that everybody who takes to driving tonight will be delayed.

When he’s twenty minutes late, she starts to worry about him.

When he’s thirty minutes late, she realizes the truth. He’s not still combing his hair, or stuck in traffic, or in some freak accident. He’d simply stood her up.

Alya keeps shooting her sympathetic glances, but Marinette ignores them in favor of flitting through the room, chatting with anybody who will spare her a moment of their time. She talks to Marc and Nathaniel about their comic, thanks Rose and Juleka for their endless compliments on her dress, and gushes with Mylene and Ivan about their matching outfits. For the most part, though, she ends up hovering around Alya and Nino whenever they’re in between dances. She’s sure that the two of them don’t mind, and she’s _positive_ that Alya is secretly plotting Adrien’s demise on her behalf, but that’s not what she wants. Adrien _must_ have a valid reason. He’s simply not the type to leave her to rot like this.

It does nothing to stop the sad, sinking feeling in her gut. Because no matter what his intentions are or had been, she’s still just a girl in a pretty dress that’s been ditched without even a text. She tries to push through it, to pretend that nothing hurts, but the feeling grips her insides and twists so sharply. The only other single people here are people that she doesn’t know at all, and she’s never felt so lonely in a crowded room.

Before the clock can tick an hour since her arrival, she makes up her mind. She maneuvers her way over to Alya, lightly touching the inside of her arm. “I’m not feeling so well,” Marinette says, not quite a lie. “I think I’m going to go home. Have a good night, alright?”

“Are you sure? I’m totally down to kick Nino to the metaphorical curb and have tonight be a girl’s night, you know.”

“No, no, really,” Marinette says. She has no doubt that Alya would stick through with this offer, but she has no intention of pretending that she’s not miserable for the next few hours. Everyone will have a better night if she just goes home. “You two should have a nice date night. I’m just feeling pretty tired and I don’t want to fall asleep on my feet.”

Alya frowns, but doesn’t push it. “If you’re sure. Text me when you get home, okay?”

“I promise,” Marinette says, leaning forward to press a kiss to Alya’s cheek. “Give Nino a kiss for me, too. I’ll see you Monday.”

Alya echoes the goodbye, but Marinette can barely hear it. She’s too busy pressing the backs of her hands into her eyes and trying not to trip over her heels. Even though there's no way that she could have known that the night would end like this, she feels like an idiot.

The worst part is that she doesn’t even really know why she’s so sad. It’s not like anything has really changed. Adrien doesn’t hate her, or know about her crush on him, or any of that. So why does this seem like the plot twist in the middle of a novel? Why does it feel like when she sees him on Monday, everything will be different?

Maybe, just maybe, she’s not grieving because Adrien didn’t show up. Maybe she’s grieving because it’s the nail in the coffin, the last straw. Maybe it’s because she’ll wake up tomorrow morning and realize that she doesn’t like him as much as she thought she did the day before. (Maybe she’s already coming to that realization now.)

It feels like the end of an era. She’s loved Adrien since the beginning. She’s loved him and cried over him, gotten mad over him and fought for him. It’s not that she doesn’t care about him, no, it’s just that she doesn’t want to do any of that anymore. Her love for him had been all-consuming, constricting, and that’s not what she wants for herself anymore. It just isn’t. Shouldn't she put herself first now? Shouldn't she learn how to exist in a world where her happiness does not depend on him?

As she walks down the street, her tears sing _farewell, farewell, farewell._

“Marinette,” a voice calls, sudden in the quiet of the night. She snaps her head up to see Luka across the sidewalk, waving at her as if staying still would cause her eyes to glaze right over him. He looks both ways across the busy street, probably deeming it unsafe, but he sprints across anyway. Two different cars honk at him, but Marinette is too busy gaping at him to realize how much of an idiotic move it was.

When he’s on her side of the street, he immediately bows, as if his jaywalking had been a theater performance and she is the audience. “Mademoiselle,” he says, in some sort of unidentifiable accent, but the teasing tone stops for what he says next. “You look radiant tonight, Marinette. You look like every love song come to life.”

“L-Luka,” she stammers, completely caught off-guard. “Why are you in the middle of the street at night? I mean, not that you’re not welcome, I mean, not that it’s not my place to _say_ if you’re welcome, because I don’t own this street, but, um-”

“I know what you meant,” he says, and his smile is amused but the farthest possible thing from malicious. She's always chasing where her run-on sentences might end up, but Luka seems to eagerly anticipate them instead of dread them like she does. “I was just on my way to get an ice cream, and yet I ran into something even sweeter. Care to join me?

“Oh, um - I was actually on my way home, but…” She almost turns him down, but something keeps the words from coming out. He's nice, and makes her smile, and maybe this night doesn’t have to end on such a bad note. The part of her that wants to bury herself under the covers can wait. “That sounds great.”

“Great,” Luka echoes, offering her his arm. She doesn’t blink twice before taking it. “Come on, I’ll show you my favorite place in the whole city.”

 

* * *

 

The ice cream shop that he takes her to is small, and excluding the smiling cashier, completely empty. Marinette can’t say that she would have exactly pegged this place for Luka’s aesthetic, but it’s certainly not _against_ his style. The light blue neon lights on the walls reflect nicely against the all-white seats, and he seems to know every word to the soft music that plays quietly in the background. It’s nice, going from the energy of the city streets to a gentle place like this.

“Get whatever you'd like,” he tells her. “It’s on me.”

Marinette squeaks in protest, but he just gives a grin and goes to browse the flavors. She pouts to herself, even though he’s not looking, and silently vows to buy him something next time. Maybe they can go out for coffee, or go see a movie, or go to an open mic-

She realizes that she’s not just planning on _hangout_ ideas, but _date_ ideas, and that baffles her so much that any witty response that she’d been thinking of simply dies in her throat. _It's been_ minutes  _since you've realized you're getting over Adrien, Marinette! Luka deserves more than to be your rebound._ Instead of dealing with the disaster that is her current thought process, she peers over his shoulder. “What are you going to get?”

Luka hums. “I’m not sure. Let me guess, peach and mint for you, right?” Marinette opens her mouth to say that no, she’s actually more of a chocolate fan, before she realizes the reference that he’s making. Who had told him about André’s flavor choices? Juleka?

“I don’t think so,” she says, offering him an awkward smile. “That used to be my favorite, but it’s not anymore. I’m thinking more like… blueberry, actually.” His eyebrows raise, showing his surprise, but his smile is huge and open-mouthed. He must understand what she's trying to convey, then, and it's such a sweet feeling, having somebody understand a language that neither of them are speaking out loud.

“Um, sorry, you two,” the cashier says, shy but polite. Oops. Marinette had kind of forgotten that they were there. “I don’t think we actually have any of those.”

“Oh, no, that’s okay!” Marinette assuages, feeling a little bad. She almost doesn’t realize that she’s talking with her hands until she accidentally hits Luka in the chest. Gah. “We were just, uh, making an inside joke. Can I actually have a double scoop of the death by chocolate, please?”

“Same for me,” Luka says, pulling out his wallet. He gives her a _look,_ as if he’s expecting her to challenge his decision to pay, but she just sticks her tongue out at him. Something about the gesture makes him fumble while getting his money out, his cheeks bright red. Huh.

Marinette’s dress poofs out around her when she sits down, to the point where she’s pretty sure the hem of it is brushing against Luka’s legs. If it itches or irritates him, he doesn't say anything about it. “Thanks for the ice cream, by the way. I appreciate it.”

“Thank you for keeping me company,” he says, as if _he_ hasn't been the one doing her a big favor all evening. “Ice cream trips are much better with another person, don’t you agree?”

“Oh, totally,” she says. “Especially people like you.” _Wait, did I say that out loud_? “Um, wait, I mean-”

Luka looks like he’s about to return the compliment, but instead his lips curl up. “You’ve got a little chocolate, right about-” he cuts himself off, instead gesturing to his own face to punctuate his sentence. Marinette tries to wipe it off, but from the laugh that tears itself out of his mouth, she’d only succeeded in making it worse. “I got it,” he says, leaning over the table. His thumb touches her lower lip, slowly moving across, and she can only hope that he can’t feel how flushed her skin is. When he deems her lip clean enough, he leans back in his chair and pops his thumb into his mouth.

_If I die in this chair, will Tikki be able to recover my earrings?_

“I have a confession to make,” Luka says, oblivious to her internal spiral. “I wasn’t on my way to get ice cream. Juleka texted me and said that you had ‘sad eyes.’”

“ _S_ _ad eyes_?” she repeats. She’s been having so much fun with him that she’d almost forgotten about the prior events of the night. “Oh, uh, yeah. I was supposed to go to the dance with somebody, but I got stood up. And that’s fine, honestly, because I understand that life happens, but… I don’t know. I guess I’m just sad that I didn’t get a dance in.” That’s not the whole truth, of course - the thought of _Adrien doesn’t even care enough about me to send a text_ hasn’t quite left her all evening.

The expression on Luka’s face shifts from concern to determination, but he doesn’t leave her in suspense for very long. “Then let’s do it.”

“What?”

“Come on, angel,” he says, and oh, wow, that sure is a pet name _,_ “the faster we eat this ice cream, the faster we can get you that dance.”

 

* * *

 

“I know it’s probably not the ideal setting,” Luka tells her, once they arrive at his intended destination, “but it’s the only place I could think of that would have enough space.”

Well, Marinette definitely wouldn’t have predicted dancing in an abandoned parking lot, but it’s not the end of the world. After scanning the area for any sharp items, she kicks off her heels and puts them neatly to the side. “It’s perfect,” she says, and she’s not just saying it to be nice. This parking lot has no lying classmates, no drinks that she can spill on herself, and no well-meaning friends giving her too many sympathetic glances. It’s just her and a cute boy who likes her.

Luka puts on some music - a slow, gentle song, the kind that you would hear in a coffee shop - and offers her his hand. When Marinette makes her way over to him, she feels like they're on a stage. “I’m just warning you,” she tells him as she takes his outstretched hand in her own, “I’ve never been much of a dancer.”

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you,” he tells her, pulling her in so close that her free hand has no place to go but on his chest. The steps that he takes are so measured and perfect, as if this dance is something he’s been waiting for his entire life. She can only hope to keep up with him, because after all, she’s just clumsy Marinette, right?

Luka reaches out and gently lifts up her chin. “You don’t need to look at your feet. Trust me. I’ll lead you.”

And oh, he does.

Dancing with him is a remarkable thing that fills her with a sense of stability that she doesn’t really tend to inhabit when she’s not suited up. She is a flash of pink in the darkness of the Paris night, and he is the light that guides her. When he twirls her, the skirt of her dress lifts up and kisses the night air. She is the eye of a hurricane, and Luka seems to want nothing more than to be swept up into the storm.

When he spins her out to arm’s length, it’s only so that he can pull her close again. They gravitate towards each other, so close that she can feel his breath, and there’s a sense of _rightness_ to it that she’s never quite felt before. There is no place where she ends and he starts, no, they meld into each other, like the verses in a song.

His hands move down to her waist and the next time that he twirls her, she’s in the air. She has no idea what she’s doing, but there’s something exhilarating about being held up by nothing but his hands. It makes her dizzy and breathless, and when he pulls her back in, she’s laughing into his shirt.

“What’s so funny?” he asks, and for a moment, they dance slow. It’s just his hands on her back and his face so close to hers that she can’t think straight. She loves it just as much as she’s loved the more extravagant parts, if not even more. They are out in the open where anybody could stop by and see them, and yet it feels as though the world is only theirs.

“I just - I feel it now,” she tells him, fully aware that he might not have any idea what she’s talking about. She's never been good with words, especially when they're about her emotions. “I feel it all now.”

It’s silly for her to have doubted him, because he always comprehends her in a way unlike anybody else. “Aren’t peach and mint still your favorite flavors?”

Marinette shakes her head. As much as she thinks that their time is wasted talking about Adrien, she knows that it’s best to talk about this all upfront. “It - it was, for a really long time. But after a while, the way that I felt… I liked it out of habit. I don’t feel that way anymore. I didn’t realize it until recently, but moving on has been a long time coming.” Her hands move up to cup his face, drawing gentle patterns into his skin. “I’ll need to take my time, it’s true, but I choose you. A hundred times.”

“Angel,” he says, as if he genuinely thinks that she is one. “I’ll choose you every day. No matter how slow you want to go.”

Even when their feet finally slow to a stop, her heart is still doing a dance of its own.

**Author's Note:**

> [meanwhile, adrien, discovering that his dad is hawkmoth: oh shit, did i tell marinette i couldnt go to the dance]
> 
> [[just kidding his phone probably just died or something]]


End file.
